Breaking the Rules
by ryagelle's evil twin
Summary: A series of oneshots based on the wonderful Skippy's List, involving some of our favorite Transformers. Crack ensues.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so this is my first attempt at fanfiction. Yes, I really am ryagelle's twin. Am I the evil one? Well, that remains to be seen…

The idea for this fic came from a list I found on the web called "213 Things Skippy Can't Do In the Army" and I got this hilarious image of Sideswipe running around with a suction-cup dart pistol sniping at officers and I couldn't stop giggling. So, this mad fic was born. Will probably turn into a series of one-shots based on Skippy's list, featuring various characters from Transformers.

The list, if you're interested, can be found here: skippyslist(dot)com/?page(underscore)id(equal)3

Oh, and much thanks go to my sister, ryagelle, without whom I would never have written this fic, let alone posted it.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

Please read and review, constructive criticism is always welcome.

* * *

Sunstreaker was having a good day. No one had tried to provoke him (Cliffjumper was out on patrol), his paintjob was spotless, and he was currently trying to beat God of War in "god mode". Best of all, his idiotic, immature brother had yet to try to connive him into whatever insane scheme he could come up with next.

"Hey Sunny, look what I've got!"

Speak of the devil.

At Sideswipe's entrance, Sunstreaker jerked, startled, then watched in horror as Kratos jumped right off the side of a cliff. He raised his irritated gaze to his brother's cheerful, too-innocent face and wondered if Prime might forgive fratricide just this once.

Probably not.

"_What_ do you _want_, Sideswipe?" he growled.

Sideswipe grinned, apparently unaware of the murderous bent his twin's thoughts were taking, though most likely he just didn't care. "Take a look at this," he said proudly, holding up a small (by Transformers standards) box triumphantly. "I ordered this thing a few weeks ago and now it's finally here!" He hurriedly opened the box then set it on the desk.

Intrigued in spite of himself, Sunstreaker stood up and peered into the box. Looking back up, he saw the stupid, slag-eating grin on his brother's face.

"No."

"Aww, but Sunny—," Sideswipe whined, instantly crestfallen.

"No. I'm not getting pulled into any more of your stupid pranks, Sides," the golden warrior replied. "We just got out of the brig from the last time."

"You gotta admit, the look on Wheeljack's face was priceless—"

Sunstreaker just glared at him. It was time to bring out the big guns. Sideswipe put on what humans referred to as the cute, adorable puppy-dog face.

"That's not going to work on me again, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker snarled.

"Please," the red twin pleaded. He clasped his hands together and pouted at his brother.

"For the last time, Sides, _no_!"

* * *

"We're so going to get in trouble for this," Sunstreaker muttered as Sideswipe peeked cautiously around the corner of the intersection. Just down the hall stood their first targets, their backs turned toward them. Sideswipe's head snaked left, then right as he made sure the coast was clear. He motioned to Sunstreaker, who moved soundlessly to the corner opposite his brother. Shooting one another an evil grin, they turned as one, took aim, and fired.

"What the—" Ironhide roared as he whipped around, catching a glimpse of red and yellow as the culprits fled down the hallway and out of sight.

A snicker behind him reminded him of Jazz's presence. Turning back around to level a scowl at the saboteur, he snapped, "What?"

"Hold still for a second," the Porsche replied as he walked around Ironhide, trying valiantly to contain his laughter as he plucked something off of the red mech's skidplate. He held the objects up for Ironhide to see. Upon seeing Ironhide's dumbstruck expression, Jazz burst out laughing, wondering how in the world the twins had managed to acquire Transformer-sized suction-cup darts.

* * *

Prowl's vents cycled in a sigh as he surveyed the datapads stacked neatly on his desk. Once these were taken care of, his afternoon was free. He fully intended to spend it tucked away in his quarters with a cube of energon, and the new book-file Skydive had lent him on military aircraft of World War II.

Picking up the first of the datapads, he began skimming through it when a soft scraping sound drew his attention to the open door of his office. As he looked up, he saw two pistols pointed directly at his chestplate. He froze for a brief moment, then did what any sensible mech would do—he dove for the floor.

Unfortunately, he did not move fast enough. Chortles of glee faded down the hallway as the Datsun stared in dismay at the two darts still quivering on his left doorwing.

"SIDESWIPE!"

* * *

Sideswipe's search for new targets led the twins in the direction of the med bay. When Sunstreaker realized where they were headed, he began to protest. Loudly.

"Sides! Are you suicidal?! We can't prank Ratchet, he'll scrap us for spare parts!"

"Be quiet, Sunny! Do you want to get caught?" the red Lamborghini hissed.

"No, but I also don't want to get on the wrong side of Ratchet's throwing arm," Sunstreaker continued, but at a much lower volume.

"Don't worry Sunny, we'll sneak up on him. He'll never know it was us," Sideswipe replied confidently.

"Why do I not believe you?" Sunstreaker muttered, earning a dirty glare from his brother.

Reaching their destination, the brothers peered past the door, one gleeful, one reluctant. Their target stood with Wheeljack, completing inventory in time for the next supply run. They loaded their dart guns and began to aim.

Unfortunately for the twins, however, their luck seemed to run out, as at just that moment an unholy screech filled the air.

"_Traitors!_" The Lamborghinis saw Red Alert barreling toward them, and it looked as if he was quickly working himself into a frenzy. The warriors gaped at one another then as one turned to flee. "You won't get away with this—!"

"The frag is going on?!" Ratchet roared, coming out of the med bay in time to catch each miscreant by an arm. "What are you two idiots up to this time? And you better give me a straight answer, or I'll reformat you two fraggers into slagging garbage disposals!"

The twins blanched at the not-so-idle threat from the wrathful CMO.

"I saw them, Ratchet!" Red Alert cried. "Attacking an officer! Prime can't let them off the hook this time. They were getting ready to fire these weapons at you—it's got to be a Decepticon plot, I just know it!" The fritzing security officer displayed the small pistols he'd managed to confiscate from the twins in the confusion.

Wheeljack, who had followed Ratchet out of the med bay, peered over Sideswipe's shoulder at Red Alert's prizes. "Uh, Red…" he said hesitantly, "Those are toys."

The red and white Lamborghini was undeterred. "Sure they _look_ like toys—how do you think they managed to sneak them into the Ark? It's all a part of their evil plan!"

"Whoa there, Red, hit the brakes," Ratchet interrupted, before the security officer could gain much steam. "I don't want to have to fix you if your processor freezes up again."

"You're overreacting a little bit, Red," Wheeljack said soothingly. "The twins are just up to their usual mischief." At this he shot a glare at the offending Lamborghinis. "We should just let Prowl take care of this."

Red Alert opened his mouth for a retort when he was neatly derailed by a smooth voice saying, "Yes, I really think you should let Prowl deal with this." The voice was followed by the tactician himself, wearing a look of smoldering anger. Behind the Datsun walked a scowling Ironhide and a bouncing, madly giggling Jazz.

"How'd you know what was going on?" Wheeljack asked, puzzled. In answer, Prowl held up several darts. "Oh, got you too, huh?"

"Yes, and when we heard Red Alert yelling, we knew exactly where to find them," Prowl replied. He turned to the errant tricksters with a frown. "Well? Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

Sideswipe shrugged as best he could in Ratchet's grip. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he replied with a disarming grin. Sunstreaker just glared stubbornly.

Prowl sighed, having long since become immune to Sideswipe's particular brand of charm. "Report to my office."

As the twins began to follow Prowl down the hall, Sunstreaker cuffed his brother on the side of the head and said, "Told you we'd get in trouble for this."

* * *

Rule #6: Not allowed to play "Pulp Fiction" with a suction-cup dart pistol and any officer. (Okay, so it doesn't have anything to do with "Pulp Fiction", but c'mon, Sideswipe with a dart pistol…!) 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I want to thank everyone for all their lovely reviews! You guys are the very best. You know just how to make a girl feel loved.

Here's the next installment of "Breaking the Rules". I don't like this one as much as the first one. --glares at the monitor-- It just wouldn't cooperate. So sad, too, because I love the Skippyism it's based on. Oh well, I gave it my best shot.

Oh, and if anyone wants me to write a particular Skippyism, let me know. I know someone mentioned rubber sheep and the Twins…XD I'll see where my muse takes me!

Hope you enjoy!

::**comm**::

_thoughts_

* * *

Sideswipe shifted restlessly, his optics scanning over the crowds of humans thronging the huge parking lot. Primus, he was _bored_.

Prime must have been on crack to volunteer (i.e. draft) Sideswipe for this event, and Sideswipe had told him so. "The humans like you for some strange reason," Prime had said. "Don't worry. Jazz will be there too, and he can do most of the talking. This is an important public relations event—we need someone there the humans will view positively, and no one else was available." Actually, Optimus had just wanted to get Sideswipe out from under his feet for a while, but he'd be fragged if he admitted that to the red hellion. The Autobot leader had fixed his most troublesome warrior with a gimlet stare. "However, if I hear that anything you've done has caused something—unfortunate—I will personally see that you scrub the floors of the washracks for the next month. With a toothbrush. Understood?" At Sideswipe's stiff nod, Prime had looked satisfied and stood from behind his desk. "Dismissed."

Sideswipe glanced over to his fellow Autobot. Jazz was in his element, chatting up the locals, gesturing animatedly. They swarmed him, taking pictures, just reaching out to touch him, so they could say they met a real, live Autobot. They had tried that with the red warrior, too, but a single glare had sent them scurrying for Jazz. He was nowhere near as vain as his brother, but he didn't like smudges on his finish either. It was a good thing Sunstreaker wasn't here—he'd have fritzed by now.

The Porsche caught Sideswipe's stare and sent the red mech a pointed glance. ::**You're supposed to be nice to the people, Siders,**:: he sent over his comm unit. ::**Smile.**:: The Lamborghini gave Jazz a weak grin and sent ::**Happy now?**:: The visored mech mimed rolling optics and turned back to his captive audience. ::**I swear, Sides, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were channeling Sunstreaker.**::

::**Am not,**:: Sideswipe grumbled back, which only earned him an amused look from Jazz.

Sideswipe had resumed his bored scanning of the crowd when he was distracted by something tapping on his left leg. He glanced down, irritated. Standing at his feet was a grungy, wild-eyed human, who was staring up at him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Mindful of Prime's threat and Jazz's watchful presence, he attempted a smile at the young male and said, "Um, hello?"

The human's eyes widened. "Oh, wow," he breathed. "You're so _big_." He continued to stare at Sideswipe raptly.

After a few moments of this scrutiny, the Lamborghini began to get antsy. "Did you want something?" he asked, a little more harshly than he intended. The human blinked, startled out of his reverie. _Heh, maybe I am channeling Sunstreaker_, Sideswipe thought with a flicker of amusement.

The young man started to stutter. Sideswipe began to get a very foreign feeling—was it guilt?—and wondered if the poor guy was broken. "Look, I'm not going to bite," he said, more gently. "Did you want to get a picture or something?"

The human shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just a little nervous, is all." He leaned toward Sideswipe with a conspiratorial air. "Look, there's something I really need to let you guys know. Is there any way I can talk to your leader?" he asked urgently.

Sideswipe immediately became suspicious. "Optimus Prime is at the _Ark_, a few hundred miles away, and he's usually very busy anyway. Maybe I can take him a message?"

"This is very important, top secret…" the human trailed off uncertainly.

Sideswipe began to become certain this was a joke. After all, hadn't he pulled stuff like this often enough himself? Anyone with a functioning processor should know to go though the proper channels with something so supposedly important. Still, he humored the man and said, "Look, I'm one of Prime's most trusted warriors. You can tell me, and I'll see that it gets to him." Well, that might have been stretching the truth a bit, but he didn't think this squishy would know the difference.

The human wavered. "If Prime didn't trust me around humans, he wouldn't have sent me here," Sideswipe said a little impatiently.

"Everyone else thinks I'm crazy," the man said anxiously. _Uh oh,_ Sideswipe thought. _This is not a good sign._ He sent a pleading look in Jazz's direction, but the saboteur's attention was elsewhere.

"About a year ago, I was abducted by aliens," the human said confidingly. Sideswipe stared. Of all the things he had been expecting, this was the last. "They put this microchip or something in my brain, man! I can _hear_ stuff, now. Like secret coded transmissions and stuff! I think they may be from, like, the Decepticons, or something. I need help! I'm afraid the Decepticons will find out and kill me for finding out their secrets. There's this one car, dude, that's been following me for like a week, and I've picked up some things that make me think they're on to me…" the human rambled as Sideswipe looked on incredulously. _This kid could give Bluestreak a run for his money…_He held up a hand to forestall the little fleshling's chatter.

"Let me get this straight," the Lamborghini said. "You were abducted by aliens." The human nodded earnestly. "They implanted a microchip in your brain that lets you hear the Decepticons' private comm signals." Another nod. "And nobody believes you?" The young man did not seem to catch the sarcasm.

"You'll help me, right?" he asked desperately.

Suddenly, Sideswipe began to think that maybe this little outing wasn't such a waste of time after all, as the first glimmers of an idea started floating around in his CPU. "Well, kid," he said, squatting down so that he was eye level with the human, "I'm afraid there's really nothing _I_ can do for you." The young man looked devastated. "However, I know some people who can," and the human brightened immediately. "Here's what you can do…"

* * *

A few days later, Sideswipe sat on a table in the med bay, waiting for his turn under Ratchet's laser scalpel after a minor scuffle with the Coneheads over a nearby power plant. The sound of several loud voices approaching rapidly drew everyone's attention. "What in the Pit is going on now," Ratchet asked irritably.

His question was answered when Inferno burst through the door, carrying Red Alert, who seemed to be unconscious. He was followed by Prowl and Optimus Prime. Inferno laid his friend out on one of the unoccupied tables as Ratchet hurried over to the little group. "What happened?" the CMO asked.

"Think his CPU froze up again," Inferno replied. "It looked like he was reading through this datapad."

Prowl handed the offending object to Ratchet. "It seems some human has mysteriously gotten hold of Red Alert's email address," the tactician said dryly. "He's been sending crazy messages about alien microchips and Decepticon plots, and of course poor Red's paranoia got the better of him. Interestingly enough, the human says he was 'helped' by a large red Autobot at a convention a few days ago…"

Sideswipe grinned weakly as all eyes turned to him. "Isn't that funny?" he asked as he began to inch toward the door.

"As you know, I had my sense of humor surgically removed a long time ago," Prowl deadpanned.

"No, Sideswipe, I don't think that's funny at all," Ratchet hissed, advancing on the warrior with a wrench in hand. "Do you realize how long it's going to take me to fix him?"

"Uh…" Sideswipe said, intelligently. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor and turned to flee, only to find that Optimus had maneuvered himself between Sideswipe and the door. The rest of the med bay's occupants watched in glee as Prime glared at the troublesome Lambo and prepared to give Sideswipe a much-deserved dressing down. They weren't disappointed.

The warrior began looking more and more chastened as the lecture wound down. When Prime was finished, he unsubspaced the one object Sideswipe was hoping not to see—a human-sized toothbrush. As Sideswipe took the toothbrush, Prime said, "I trust you know what to do with this?" Sideswipe nodded ruefully, and then something occurred to him.

"Say, how did you just happen to have one of these on hand? Sir." The last was added belatedly.

Prime sighed. "Sideswipe, I've learned the hard way that when it comes to you, it always pays to come prepared."

* * *

Rule #208: Not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of the civilians who are "hearing conversations" from the NSA, FBI, CIA, and KGB due to the microchip the aliens implanted in their brain.

Poor Red…I seem to have made a habit of picking on him. --snicker--


	3. Chapter 3

Breaking the Rules Ch. 3

A/N: I would have had this out a lot sooner, but first I was struck by an evil cold, and then I got a bad case of writer's block. --sigh-- Oh well. I hope this one's worth the wait. This skippyism was suggested by Cereal-Rapist-Spencer, and I had to do it, because who doesn't like to see Autobots get drunk?

It started out with Sideswipe being the star of the show, and then Jazz demanded that it was his turn, and hijacked the whole thing. So just blame Jazz for this whole thing. Yeah. Definitely Jazz's fault...

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. You guys are the reason this crazy fic is still going.

And so without further ado, on with the funny.

* * *

Whenever the Autobots won a significant victory against the Decepticons, they usually celebrated with a big party. Tonight was no exception. Jazz and Blaster had gone all out with music and decorations, and the twins had managed to smuggle in a few barrels of their contraband home-brewed energon. This was generally accepted as being the best high-grade to be found anywhere on Earth (because it could knock you flat on your aft in 3 seconds), so of course it was in great demand.

The manufacturers of the illegal booze were currently playing a drinking game with Jazz, Bluestreak, Ratchet, and Ironhide. The crowd of onlookers surrounding the table cheered their favorites enthusiastically.

Most of the mechs in the table were already well on their way to being trashed, although Ratchet, at least, seemed to be holding his own. The real competition, however, was held between Jazz and Sideswipe. Neither mech wavered in the least as each lifted his cube of energon and downed it in a single gulp, never taking their optics off one another. Everyone, including the other players, cheered.

Bluestreak wobbled, giggling cheerfully, and then crashed face forward onto the table in sound recharge. This set off a round of laughter as the gunner was picked up and carried over to a corner of the room where no one would step on him.

"Well, one down," Jazz remarked, with a face-splitting grin.

"Y're next," Sunstreaker slurred, finger weaving slightly as he pointed at the saboteur.

"Ain't no way, Sunny m'boy," Jazz laughed.

Ratchet peered blearily up at the yellow twin. "Jazz's right," he barked. "You're even farther gone than I am." Sunstreaker scowled.

"Don't help that he takes two cubes for every one that we drink," Sideswipe snickered. "Hey, whose turn is it, anyway?"

"Ironhide's, I think," said Jazz, who had actually managed to pay attention.

"Hey 'Hide," Ratchet said. "'S your turn." No response. He shrugged to the others, then turned in his seat to poke the older mech.

Ironhide toppled from his chair with an ungraceful crash. Sideswipe giggled as he peeked under the table at the peacefully recharging mech. "Make that two down," he announced.

"Guess that makes it my turn," Ratchet said brightly.

Sideswipe reached out to refill the medic's cube only to encounter a problem. "Uh oh," he said.

"Uh oh?" Ratchet asked. "What uh oh?"

"Uh oh, we're out of high grade," Sideswipe informed him solemnly.

"Oh," Ratchet said. "That's a big uh oh."

"There's only one thing to do, boys," Jazz said, standing up. "We've got to go get some more."

"That is an excellent idea," Sideswipe declared, standing up himself.

Sunstreaker looked up at his brother. "'M staying here," he said sullenly. Sideswipe just shrugged.

"I'll go with you," Ratchet offered generously. He stood, wobbling precariously, then sat back down with a thump. "On second thought, I'll just stay here and keep ol' Sunshine company." There were several chuckles from the audience.

"You ready?" Jazz asked. Sideswipe nodded with a big goofy grin. "Alright, let's go!" The two began to make their careful, slightly unsteady way out of the common room of the _Ark_.

Once they were out of hearing range of the other partiers, Sideswipe swayed a little on his feet and chuckled. "Whoops, I think I'm a little tipsier than I thought," he said happily.

Jazz snorted. "Well, I'm not, ol' buddy," he replied. "You're gonna lose this game yet."

Sideswipe just looked at him in amusement. "Liar," he said, smirking.

"Say," the saboteur said suddenly. "You know, I think I know a shortcut through here that'll get us to your quarters—and the high grade—a lot quicker." He pointed down a narrow hallway branching off just ahead.

Sideswipe peered blearily down the hallway. "Lead on, my good mech," he said, with a grandiose gesture that nearly overbalanced him. Jazz snickered.

"Slagger," Sideswipe huffed and flounced toward the shortcut. The Porsche followed, trying valiantly to muffle his giggles.

* * *

Beyond the common room, the hallways of the crashed spaceship were dimly lit, since most mechs were either on sentry duty or deep in recharge. There was no sense wasting power on needless lights. Unfortunately for the two overcharged mechs traveling down the dark corridors, that made it really easy to get lost.

"I thought you said this was a shortcut," the red Lamborghini whined impatiently.

"It is," Jazz insisted. "It takes a lot less time to go this way—cuts right through the officers' quarters."

"I don't see the officers' quarters, Jazz. We've been walking for a couple breems—we shoulda been there by now."

"Trust me."

"We're lost, aren't we?"

"Nope."

"Yup."

"…Well, maybe."

"I knew it!" Sideswipe crowed.

"Just a little," Jazz said defensively. "I think we maybe might have made a wrong turn back there…" He turned to look back they way they came.

"What was that?" Sideswipe teased. "The famous Special Ops agent gets lost in his own base?"

"It's dark!" the saboteur protested.

"Yeah. And?" Sides demanded.

"And maybe I'm a little tipsy too," he muttered.

"Ah ha! I thought so!"

Jazz swatted at the red warrior in mock aggravation. "Let's just worry about how to get _un_lost, 'kay Siders?"

"Good idea. I mean, those poor mechs are still waitin' for their high grade, y'know?" Sideswipe said philosophically.

"Right," Jazz agreed emphatically. "They're countin' on us! Now, if I could only figure out where we are…"

"Let's go down this way," Sideswipe said, looking down a side hall.

Jazz glanced at him in amusement. "Why that way?"

"Where's your sense of adventure? We gotta come to a place we know eventually, right?" the Lambo asked.

Jazz paused for a moment with chin in hand, pretending to think. "Alright then, that one it is!"

* * *

_A few breems later…_

"Hey, I think I know where we are!" Sideswipe exclaimed cheerfully. "We're nearly at the command center. It's just down this hallway."

"How do you know the back hallways behind the command center so well, Sides?" Jazz asked mischievously.

Sideswipe grinned. "It's best if you don't know, Jazz."

The saboteur grinned back. "Well then, let's skip on through here to your room and grab that high grade at last, shall we?"

"Sounds good to me," Sideswipe replied.

The two attempted to make their cautious, quiet way toward the command center. Both knew that the only mechs likely to be on duty (Prowl, Red Alert, and Prime) would not be pleased with what they had in mind. Especially since Prowl didn't know that he hadn't managed to locate and destroy all of the twins' stash of illegal high grade. Sideswipe had too many hiding places and there was no way the overworked tactician could find them all.

Unfortunately, being overcharged makes it very difficult to be either cautious or quiet.

* * *

Prowl glared at the communications console. Here he was, stuck _again_, doing everyone's work on top of his own. He understood that everyone needed the chance to relax, and to celebrate a victory, but they seemed to have forgotten that they still had responsibilities. They were in the middle of a war, after all. Did they think the base would run itself? The tactician's doorwings twitched irritably as he worked himself into a temper.

Behind the unsuspecting Datsun, two shadows slunk through a small side door and behind banks of computer monitors toward the main double doors to the command center. They paused briefly as they drew level with the 2IC, and hunkered down behind a desk.

Jazz and Sideswipe peeked carefully over the top of the desk at Prowl, and then sank back down with identical smirks. "Man, that guy really needs to loosen up a little," Sideswipe whispered.

"I did try to get him to come to the party," Jazz whispered back. "He said somethin' about somebody needin' to make sure we weren't invaded while no one was in a condition to fight back. I think he's just got a stick up his aft."

Sideswipe couldn't contain his giggle. This set Jazz off, and soon both were in fits on the floor, trying hard to muffle the sounds coming out of their vocalizers.

Prowl started at an unusual sound coming from behind him. _Is that…giggling_? He got up to investigate. _Primus help those Lamborghini twins if they're trying to pull something on me,_ he thought savagely. _They'll be pulling double shifts for a month_.

He leaned over the desk the sounds were coming from and just stared for a moment. Sideswipe was pounding the floor in silent laughter, and Jazz lay cackling with his hand over his mouth as if that would help stop the sound from escaping. "Having fun, you two?" Prowl asked dangerously.

This did not sober the two mechs on the floor at all. When they got a glimpse of Prowl's face, it only set them off into fresh peals of laughter.

"Oh man, Prowl, you need to get the stick out of your aft!" Sideswipe chortled.

Prowl spluttered, "What...how dare...what the frag is _wrong_ with you?"

Sideswipe smiled up at the tactician with his most innocent expression. "Why, I don't think anything's wrong with me." He paused for a moment. "But I do think I am drunk."

Prowl just put his hand over his face and shook his head. His vents cycled in a sigh, then he just walked back to his console, sat down, and let his head hit the keyboard with a bang. "Just go away," he muttered, his voice muffled.

Jazz and Sideswipe looked at one another, shrugged, and skipped out of the command center, to fetch their high grade at last.

* * *

Rule #130: 'I'm drunk' is a bad answer to any question posed by my commander. 


	4. Chapter 4

My sister told me the most amusing thing the other day. Apparently, we have corrupted a young and innocent mind with Transformers. My 5 year old step-nephew had to write a letter to Santa for school, and my sister asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He said he wanted a Transformer. My sister asked him, "But I thought you wanted a toy airplane for Christmas." To which he replied, "I want a Transformer that turns into an airplane!" Ah, another Starscream fan begins early in life. ;p We're so proud.

Sorry this took so long to crank out, it was amazingly hard for me to write this chapter. Thankfully, my twin was there to kick me in the butt and make me finish it, so here you are. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks ever so much to my wonderful reviewers as well, you guys rock.

It has been a while since I mentioned this, so here goes: I own nothing, and I am broke. But Christmas is coming soon. --hopeful grin--

Now, enough with my rambling, on to the story.

* * *

It had been a peaceful few weeks for the beleaguered Autobots living at the _Ark_. The Decepticons' activities had been limited to a few minor raids on shipping and the like, easily stopped with few injuries.

Most of the mechs were enjoying the mild respite from the ages-old war for as long as it would last, knowing they might not get many more chances like this. However, there was one mech who did not relax. Every day that passed wound him tighter and tighter with tension, waiting for the inevitable attack.

Red Alert fretted. He fretted about everything. He was good at it. After all, in a way fretting was his job. As the security director for the Autobots, he had to worry about every aspect of the defense of the _Ark_ and its inhabitants.

There were many mechs who dismissed him as fanatical and paranoid. He thought they were too careless with their own safety, and he just _knew_ that some of them were Decepticon sympathizers, but Prime refused to listen to him on that point. In Red Alert's opinion, Prime was entirely too trusting for his own good, so it was up to Red Alert to make sure that trust was not abused.

Anyway, if the security director's detractors knew all of the ways the 'Cons could murder them as they recharged, they'd be paranoid, too.

It didn't help that the criminal element among the Autobots did their level best to feed that paranoia, finding it hilarious to see the poor Lamborghini fritz out, and even funnier to hear Ratchet's cursing when the medic had to fix him. It was as much due to Red Alert's fear of being pranked as it was threat of Decepticon attack that had Red constantly glancing over his shoulder, twitching nervously as he made his rounds.

So far, the usual tricksters had been as quiet as the Decepticons. Most of the command element breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time they had learned their lessons. Red Alert knew better. Sideswipe, at least (who was usually the ring leader), was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. The security director knew that the longer his fellow Lamborghini was quiet, the more elaborate was the prank he planned. Add to this the fact that Red Alert had not been the subject of a prank for quite some time, and you had a recipe for disaster.

It was with a great sense of relief, then, when Red Alert made it to the security center to do a last systems check before the end of his shift. If he could make it to his quarters without incident, he'd be safe for one more day, at least.

He typed his access code into the main console. As he waited for the computer to acknowledge his passcode, he visually checked each monitor showing every part of the base, barring personal quarters. (He had argued for cameras in the living quarters as well, but Prime had firmly denied him.) All monitors showed normal activity, or at least as normal as the Autobots ever got.

The main console beeped, drawing his attention away from the security cameras. It took a moment for his mind to make sense of what was on the screen.

"Access restricted: security level gamma zulu access code required."

Red Alert stared. "What the…? That makes no sense! I've never heard of that security level before…" He retried his code with the same result. He then tried the master override code, which should have gotten him into any system in the base save Prime's personal files. Still, the same response.

Red Alert started to fritz.

* * *

Inferno checked his internal chronometer again. Red Alert was several breems late from his shift. It was normal for the red and white Lamborghini to work extra hours, but the fire truck had made him promise to come back on time today and spend some time with his best friend. Inferno had every intention of dragging Red to the common room, if need be, and drink a few cubes of high grade together. (Red didn't need to know it was Sideswipe's special home-brewed high grade; that would spoil the fun.) Inferno was determined that Red would relax for once if it killed him. _If_ he ever got back from his shift.

Inferno began pacing Red Alert's quarters with anxious energy. It wasn't like his friend to just ignore a promise. He hoped Red hadn't gotten into trouble again with his wild conspiracy theories, or worse, locked his processor. As that thought entered Inferno's CPU, he abruptly stopped pacing and decided he'd better go check on Red, just in case. He opened the door and set out for the security center at an easy jog.

When he reached his destination, he found an all too familiar sight—Red Alert was slouched over the console typing and muttering to himself madly. Inferno was surprised that there weren't sparks flying from the Lamborghini's vents, he was so worked up. "Uh, Red…what's going on?" Red Alert ignored him. "Red. _Red._ RED ALERT!"

The security director jumped, startled, then lunged for Inferno. The fire truck dodged before he realized that his friend wasn't aiming for him. Red Alert slammed the open door closed and locked it with a jerky motion. "We can't be too careful," he mumbled fearfully.

"What's wrong, Red?" Inferno asked, with a placating gesture toward the excitable Lamborghini.

Red Alert's expression softened briefly, before hardening into harsh lines. "You're the only one I can trust, Inferno," he said anxiously.

"'Course you can trust me, Red," Inferno replied soothingly. "Can you tell me what's going on?" Inferno knew that his only chance at talking Red down was by playing along with him, at least for now.

"I think the Decepticons have infiltrated the security network," Red Alert said quietly, returning to his computer console to continue his furious typing. Inferno took advantage of Red's distraction to send a quiet comm message to the _Ark's_ resident medic.

::**Inferno to Ratchet.**::

::**Ratchet here. Go ahead,**:: the CMO replied.

::**We've got a problem with Red Alert. I need you to get to the security center quick before he blows a circuit.**:: Inferno paused for a moment. ::**You may want to bring backup.**::

There was a certain grim glee in Ratchet's tone as he answered. ::**Always do, when Red Alert's involved. Those glitching Lamborghini twins are here pestering the slag out of me right now; I might as well put the fraggers to work. I'll be there shortly. Ratchet out.**::

* * *

In the med bay, Ratchet turned an evil grin onto the two unholy terrors that were currently making his life miserable. "Hey. Frik and Frak. If you're going to hang around me, by Primus you're at least going to make yourselves useful. I need some muscle to restrain Red Alert at the security center and you two just volunteered."

Two pairs of blue optics widened innocently. "Uh, Red Alert, Ratchet?" Sideswipe stuttered.

"Yes, you malfunctioning glitch, Red Alert," Ratchet replied in annoyance.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Doc? I mean, he don't exactly like us much…" Sideswipe wheedled.

"He's starting to fritz, and I need someone who can hold him if he tries to kick up a fuss. You two happen to be convenient." Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously as an idea occurred to him. "You wouldn't happen to have had anything to do with this, would you boys?" he purred with silky menace. This question was met with frantic headshaking and denials. "Then you won't have any trouble helping me, now, will you?"

"I guess not," Sideswipe mumbled, sharing a resigned glance with his brother.

"Good," Ratchet said, with satisfaction. "Now get your afts in gear and get moving!"

* * *

Upon reaching the security center they found the door locked. Fortunately Ratchet, as CMO, had the authority to override any door lock in the _Ark_, and he wasted no time in silently opening the door and slipping inside, the twins on his heels.

Inferno looked up at their entrance, from where he stood at the security director's shoulder, murmuring soothing words and trying his best to calm his friend down. Red Alert was oblivious to the new arrivals, babbling nervously over his console about Decepticon spies and traitors in the _Ark_.

The medic sidled up to the other red and white, a tranquilizer in hand to sedate Red Alert before he could hurt himself. Something must have given Ratchet away, however, because the ambulance was unable to administer the tranquilizer before the security director turned and sprang on him. This created a Lamborghini dog-pile as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker joined the fray, pulling Red Alert off his fellow officer and pinning him to the floor. Red was snarling and hurling curses and accusations of treason at the twins as they held him down.

"Now, Red, this is for your own good," Ratchet said firmly, injecting the sedative into a main energon line. "He must have seen my reflection in the monitors or something," he said wearily as Red went limp, and the medic got to his feet. "Get him down to the med bay and I'll keep him for observation overnight. What do you think set him off?" This last was directed at Inferno.

"He said something about Decepticons hacking into the security network. I suppose we could have Wheeljack or Perceptor come in and have a look at it later. It's probably just a glitch in the system," the fire truck replied. "Will he be alright?"

Ratchet nodded. "He'll be fine once he wakes up. I'll call you when he does." Inferno smiled in relief and helped a grumbling Sunstreaker pick Red Alert up. The CMO then turned to Sideswipe as the two maneuvered their burden toward the med bay. "A glitch in the system, Sideswipe. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Sideswipe gave what he had come to think of as the 'stupid Lamborghini' grin, the one that said, 'Look at me, I'm too dumb to do anything.' "C'mon, Ratch'. You know I don't know anything about computers."

Ratchet stared at him contemplatively for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose that would be a little complicated for you to pull off, wouldn't it." The medic turned and left for his med bay.

For once, Sideswipe was grateful for the universal assumption that he and his brother were all brawn and no brains. As soon as Ratchet was out of audio range, Sideswipe quickly turned to the console and typed in a few commands. He then typed in Red Alert's access code and grinned when the screen flashed "Access granted."

"Mission accomplished," the red troublemaker said with satisfaction, then logged out of the system and sauntered out of the security center whistling jauntily to himself.

* * *

Rule # 173: I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I just have to say that this chapter is complete and total crack, and I take no responsibility for whatever you may find. XD Oh and sorry for the shortness.

I had intended to have Megatron the butt of this joke, but Skywarp had other ideas. Yes, I have decided to pick on someone other than Sideswipe--he was getting tired of spending time in the brig.

Oh yeah, and I own nothing, I make no money, yadda yadda yadda.

* * *

Starscream's wings twitched irritably as his optics followed the pacing of his wingmate, Skywarp. The black and purple jet had been at it for about half an hour and the Air Commander's patience (never very great to begin with) was reaching its limit. "Primus, will you stop that?!" he burst out, his shrill voice piercing the silence, startling Thundercracker, seated on a boulder a few yards away.

Skywarp shot Starscream an offended glare and flopped onto another boulder, sulking. "What's it hurting you, anyway?" he snapped.

"Pay no mind to him, 'Warp. He's just bitchy because Megatron's got us on guard duty again," Thundercracker said snidely.

"This is demeaning!" Starscream growled. "If he wanted fliers up here, why not send those idiot coneheads? Our talents are wasted here! _Anyone_ can watch for the stupid Autobots—they're not exactly hard to spot!" Thundercracker rolled his optics at Starscream's tendency to exaggerate.

"The coneheads _are_ idiots—that's why they're not up here now. You know they require constant babysitting," the blue jet said reasonably. He wisely refrained from mentioning the Autobot spy who could turn invisible—that much (perceived) criticism would make the Air Commander go ballistic. Starscream's temper was legendary, and could be touched off by the smallest things. As amusing as that may have been at any other time, doing it now, while guarding Megatron with his latest pet project, would bring trouble of the worst kind in the form of the warlord himself. Primus knew Megatron delighted in any opportunity to put his ambitious and backstabbing Air Commander in his place, and Thundercracker knew from painful experience that slag went downhill.

The blue Seeker walked over to the cliff edge to watch as Megatron supervised the Constructicons in the building of the Decepticon leader's latest gadget. "Just what is he building anyway?" he asked, trying to defuse the volatile red jet.

"Some kind of new cannon that'll shoot all the way from here to the Autobots' base undetected. I think," Starscream scowled. "He never tells me anything anymore. Look at those idiots," he gestured to the Constructicons. "They've got the trajectory all wrong. I could do a much better job, but does 'Mighty Lord Megatron' think of that? No, I get stuck up here on guard duty, like some inexperienced youngling! Someday _I'll_ be the leader of the Decepticons, then I'll show him!" The Air Commander continued his rant as his wingmates looked on in amused annoyance.

::**Here he goes again,**:: Skywarp sent to Thundercracker over a private commlink. The purple Seeker grinned. ::**Watch this.**:: He quietly teleported behind the wingleader and matched him pace for pace, mimicking him so accurately that Thundercracker had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Something in his expression must have given him away, because suddenly Starscream turned on Thundercracker with an angry glare. He caught sight of Skywarp then, who had turned to stare at the ongoing construction as though fascinated. The red Seeker's optics darted between his wingmates, as though he knew that they were up to something that probably involved making fun of him, but was unable to prove it. Skywarp shot Starscream his best innocent grin, which only made the wingleader even more suspicious. It was too much for Thundercracker, who burst into laughter at the antics of the irrepressible Skywarp.

Starscream scowled and stomped over to sit on the nearest boulder with a huff, his arms crossed over his cockpit. It only made his wingmates laugh harder to see their commander behaving like a spoiled sparkling.

So caught up was Starscream in his pouting, that he failed to notice the small object hurtling through the air to land amongst the Seekers' feet. Skywarp, however, immediately recognized it for what it was, having often used such things himself. He radioed Thundercracker and outlined a split-second plan. Grinning at one another, the two Seekers shouted, "Grenade!"

"What?!" Starscream cried, leaping to his feet. He had no time to escape, however, as his wingmates grabbed him by either arm and flung him down onto the object. Skywarp instantly grabbed Thundercracker and teleported the two of them out of there, cackling madly.

* * *

Megatron smirked as he surveyed the progress being made on his latest weapon. Everything was going according to plan, and he was savoring the thought of finally being able to crush Prime and his Autobots for good. The warlord only hoped that those bumbling Seekers of his actually did their jobs right, for a change.

As if his thoughts had summoned them, Skywarp teleported before him with Thundercracker in tow. Megatron scowled. "Are the Autobots attacking?" His optics narrowed. "And where's Starscr—?" He was cut off by a loud explosion followed by an unholy shriek that could only have come from the Air Commander.

"Grenade, sir," Skywarp said solemnly. "Starscream sacrificed himself to save us." Megatron stared at the purple jet suspiciously, but before he could question Skywarp further, Starscream himself came to the edge of the cliff. With another screech, he launched himself toward his wingmates. Megatron could only gape as he realized that the Air Commander was covered, not with burns and scorch marks, but with pink and orange paint.

Skywarp took one look at his wingleader, grinned, and said, "Um, gotta go, bye!" before teleporting himself away.

"Skywarp, wait!" Thundercracker cried as he transformed and took off into the sky. Starscream followed him, shrieking obscenities the entire way.

Megatron just stood fuming on the ground, thinking of creative ways to punish the Seekers once they came back.

* * *

Hidden high amongst the rocks above the Seekers' position, special ops agent Jazz watched, stunned, as a paint-splattered Starscream leaped up from the ground and took off after his wingmates. He'd only been assigned to scout out the Decepticons' activities and maybe cause a little trouble—he hadn't figured on this! He glanced down speculatively at the grenades Wheeljack had given him and grinned. "So _that's_ where Sideswipe gets his paintbombs." He glanced down into the chaos that was the Decepticons' latest project. "This could be a good thing," he murmured softly.

He looked through the image captures he'd managed to get and his grin got wider. Yes, this was definitely a good thing.

* * *

Rule #201: Must not valiantly push officers onto hand grenades to save the squad. 


	6. Chapter 6

OMG IT'S AN UPDATE *DED* This is not the bestest thing I have ever written, but it got a chuckle out of le sister, so I figured it was worth posting. ^^

* * *

Optimus Prime did a double take.

He stepped back a few paces, until he could see through the doorway of the rec. room again, and his optics drew down in his version of a puzzled frown.

"Sideswipe, what are you doing?"

The red mech looked up. "Hm? Oh, I'm playing a game, sir," and he gestured calmly toward the TV screen with his controller. The…_thing_…on his head slipped a little, and he pushed it back casually.

"…ah. Yes, I see." He struggled with his bemusement for a few kliks, then decided he didn't need to know, after all. "Very well. Carry on." He arched an optic ridge when Sideswipe just shrugged with a cheeky grin and went back to his game. Optimus turned and moved on, shaking his head ruefully.

* * *

"Did you see that whatever-it-was Sideswipe's got on his head?"

Optimus turned to look; the voice belonged to Gears. Huffer, standing beside the other mech where he sat at the security console, shook his head.

"No, but I've no doubt it means he's up to no good. Again," was the dour reply, and Gears clucked and shook his head disapprovingly.

The Prime blinked, a quick resetting of his optics that none of the other mechs in the command center saw. Gears and Huffer were absorbed in their gossip, and didn't even notice his attention. Just in case, however, he returned his optics to his own task.

"Someone ought to take it from him," Huffer continued, still in that same sour tone. "Make him start acting like a mech, and not a sparkling. We're at _war_, here. We shouldn't be playing games!"

Privately, Optimus disagreed, feeling that a little light-sparked foolishness from time to time kept morale up, but he did not point this out to them, not quite willing to give up his eavesdropping just yet.

The next was said very softly, though not so softly that he couldn't hear it, and he huffed a soft sigh when it reached his audios. "I wonder why Prime doesn't say something to him about it. You'd think he'd realize that he can't mean anything innocent by something like that," Gears murmured.

"Prime has not done anything because so far he hasn't caused any disruption that I'm aware of, nor has he harmed anyone with it," he broke in, and all optics turned to him immediately; Gears and Huffer, in particular, bore guilty expressions.

"Ah—" Gears stammered, wordless for a few moments, then, finally, muttering, "…yessir." Both mechs studiously turned their attention back to the monitors they were supposed to be watching.

Optimus sighed again wearily, then put it out of his mind as inconsequential.

* * *

Out of the corner of his optic, just after firing off a wild shot at Skywarp, Optimus caught a flash of silver. Distracted, he turned his head—and there was Sideswipe, the bowl-shaped…_whatever_ it was strapped securely onto his head as the red mech ignited his jetpack and took off with a joyful whoop.

Skywarp was clearly taken aback by his appearance, because he paused to gawk long enough that the red warrior managed to catch him before he could teleport away. "What the slag are you on, stupid Autobot?" the black Seeker screeched, twisting and bucking to try and dislodge the smaller mech. Sideswipe merely grinned and hung on for dear life, every now and then sparing a hand from his clinging to rip at the black-and-purple wings gleefully.

* * *

Later, making rounds through the medbay after the battle, Optimus came across Sideswipe again, just coming to his turn with Ratchet. The silver thing was still on his head, though tattered and misshapen, now.

"What the slagging slag is _this_?" Ratchet demanded, reaching to take the thing away. "Are your logic circuits damaged or something?" Sideswipe twisted his head and evaded him, making it nearly impossible for the medic to get a good grip on it to rip it off.

"No, Ratchet, you can't take it! I need it!" the red mech howled, causing every mech in the medbay to turn to look at him.

"What is your fragging glitch, Sideswipe?" Ratchet growled, apparently growing frustrated and giving up—at least, for the moment.

Sideswipe's reply was dead serious—but, something in the red mech's optics, some glint shining there, made Optimus think he was laughing himself sick, inside.

"It's tinfoil. It's the only thing that can block the space mind control lasers," he said solemnly.

Ratchet hit him.

68. I may not line my helmet with tin foil to "Block out the space mind control lasers".


End file.
